


teeth and lungs

by arabellagaleotti



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1990s, Cigarettes, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Good Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger-centric, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Sex, Smoking, Underage Smoking, but this is the 90's, romanticisation of cigs, smoker draco malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:20:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27461842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arabellagaleotti/pseuds/arabellagaleotti
Summary: “You smoke?” she asks him. She's never thought of him like that. Now, seeing him hunched, trying to light it, a furrowed look on his face as he concentrates on the lighter between his fingers, cigarette between his teeth, it fits him.He finally lights it with another spark, and laughs, once he’s taken his first drag and expelles it. "No, no. Blaise does, though.”She raises her eyebrows. “Oh, social smoker?”He shrugs. “Not really, anymore.”She makes a decision. “Hm. Give me one.”OR,Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy sleep together, and they smoke together. In that order.Oneshot.
Relationships: (past), Draco Malfoy & Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger & Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 15
Kudos: 69





	teeth and lungs

She doesn't quite know how it happened. 

In class — Defense Against the Dark Arts -- they’re paired together, and they both agree it’s bullshit, since they’ve just been through a war, all the teaching they would ever need. 

Then they’re sitting in the library together, studying quietly, and then he wanders onto her sitting by the great lake one day, so they spend the whole afternoon skipping rocks and laughing, mouths open. It seems like nothing, like it’s just natural. She’s only reminded of herself when they're walking back up the castle together, wringing water out of their clothes, as she's shoved her in, and then she’d pulled him in and they’d both laughed and gasped for air, but anyways, they’re walking back to the castle and a fifth-year give them a strange, disgusted, shocked look and Hermione remembers who they are. He sees too, and looks down at her. 

Then his mouth is on hers, his hands on her, they're in the third corridor. The door opens, they fall inside the Room of Requirement, kicking off shoes and jackets and then, the bed. She's grabbing the sheets and crying out, and he’s sticking kisses down her stomach, hands pushing her thighs open, and she’s still a little damp, but he doesn't care. 

It’s after, and she's a little dazed, a little confused by what exactly has just happened, but he’s not. He reaches for his coat, abandoned on the floor by the bed, and roots around until he hisses achievement and pulls back. He's holding a pack of cigarettes, pulling one and balancing it on his knee. 

“You smoke?” she asks him. She's never thought of him like that. Now, seeing him hunched, trying to light it, a furrowed look on his face as he concentrates on the lighter between his fingers, cigarette between his teeth, it fits him. 

He finally lights it with another spark, and laughs, once he’s taken his first drag and expelles it. "No, no. Blaise does, though.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Oh, social smoker?”

He shrugs. “Not really, anymore.”

She makes a decision. “Hm. Give me one.”

He looks at her, visibly confused. “You sure?”

She tries to look confident. “I've smoked before.”

He raised her eyebrows, but raced for the pack, sliding on out. “How many times?” he asks, and passes her one.

“Twice,”she says, and reaches for the light. She lights it on one less try than him. 

She drags it in, inhales. It only burns a little, but if you pretend your eyes are watering and red rimmed, they aren't.

Draco doesn't say anything, just smiles, and inhales his own. 

They sit there in silence, inhaling, exhaling, for a few minutes. 

“I'm sorry, by the way,” he says.

She looks over at him. “For what?”

He shrugs, “Being a dick. You know. I've never said it.”

She shrugs. She doesn't want to think about it.

“Yeah,” she says. “Well, It doesn't matter now. But thank you.”

She finishes her cigarette. “I gotta go.”

She slides off the bed, grabs her underwear, cardigan, shoes. That's all she got off before she got busy, let’s say.

_“ut non olfacies Tabaci,_ ” he says, and when she turns, he's just watching her, cigarette smoking next to the sheets. 

“What?”

He holds up the cigarette, as evidence. “Gets rid of the smell.”

She’s surprised. Never heard of it. “Oh. Thanks.”

“See you in class, Granger,” and he laughs, like he always does. She’s not sure if it’s a good thing.

  
  


—

She’s started smoking more since that day. One after sex, or sometimes one before. Lav sometimes has a pack, so she’ll bum one, and before she knows it, she’s trudging down to Hogsmeade and getting a pack or two every other day. 

She’s out by the Great Lake, looking out at the view, a lazy tentacle swaying in the air. She waves at it, and giggles. The Forbidden Forest gestures for her, dark and inscrutable. She doesn't move. She's not scared of it, but she'd rather not, if she didn't have to. 

She lights one, since she's getting the urge, and she's only a few puffs in when a similar form joins her.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“Nothing,” he says, eyeing the cigarette in her hand. “When did you start smoking, ‘Mione?” Ron asks.

She shrugs. Think of him, saying I _don't smoke, but Blaise does,_ and she wonders if she doesn't smoke, but Draco does. “Just did, I guess.”

They don't know about him. Hermione's dirty little secret, ferreted (hah) away in the Room of Requirement every Tuesday third period. She doesn't know how they’d react. Probably badly. Very badly. 

He fidgets, “Oh.”

“You really shouldn't, Hermione. It's not good for you.”

“Yeah, well. Neither was fighting Voldemort, but everyone let a bunch of minors do that.”

He sighs, like she’s difficult. “‘Mione, that's so different.”

‘“Isn't it, though? You’re picking and choosing my destructive habits. When it works for you, it's totally okay, and when it doesn't — when I'm not convenient, I need to stop.” She's not talking about smoking anymore, of course. She shakes her head. “Don't try and control me, Ronald. You know that didn't work out.”

They broke up last summer. After the war, it seemed like they didn't have a purpose. They were just a desperate connection formed to stop themselves falling apart. 

They had tried to make it work, to be fair. Hermione had tried. She’d done everything she thought Ron wanted her to do, and more, but it didn't work. 

He wasn't good enough for Hermione, she wasn't funny or forgiving or attentive enough for Ron. He liked to go out to the pub, she’d rather research a new project. She’s got all this ambition and drive that he just doesn't. 

Their breakup was quiet, but scarring. She cried, he cried, but looking back, she’s not sure why. It's not like she really cared she knew, the whole time, that it was doomed. She was glad, really. Sh didn’t have to deal with it anymore. 

  
  


— 

  
  


It's a third period on a Tuesday, and they’re coiled up in bed, almost like they actually care about each other. Draco’s got his back to the wall, his arm tucked over Hermione as she lays sideways, leaning into his chest, legs tangled together. He passes her a cigarette when he gets one. There's not really talking, but Hermione clears her throat because she's just remembered, and goes,

“Oh, so, the other day I was out by the lake, and I just lit one, and Ron comes up behind me, asks about it. So he said, “so, you smoke now?” and I —” she cuts herself off, laughing. “Fuck me, I nealy said _‘no, Draco does, and he ony does because of Blaise,’_ and oh, the look on his face if I’d said it.”

Draco chuckles a little, chest vibrating. “imagine what they’d say if they knew, their perfect little Gryffindor, Golden Girl, princess of the light, fucking me.”

She laughs. “Hermione, what's happened to you? Where is my friend?” she mimics, “are you okay? Have you hit your head?”

“No, Ronald,” Draco says, “I've just realised how shit you were in bed,” and then he’s kissing her again, past the laugh in her throat. 

— 

There’s a place where everyone goes to smoke. Tucked between greenhouses below the school, it’s kicked up dirt and a few cigarette butts that nobody’s bothered to vanish. It's her free period, and Hermione's out there, trying to blow smoke rings. 

Draco rounds the corner of the greenhouse, pulling a pack from his pocket already. 

“Oh, hi,” he says, and walks over to her, leans on the empty greenhouse, perpendicular to her. 

“Hey,” she says, tries to blow another smoke ring 

“No, you've gotta do it like this,” he says, cig already lit, and places a perfect smoke ring.

“How’d you do that?”

“I just showed you!”

“Saying ‘do it like this’ and then doing it isn't helpful! I don’t understand what you're actually doing!”

“You're meant to be the smartest witch of our age, Hermione. Figure it out.”

They’re laughing quietly when another figure comes around the corner. It’s Blaise, another Slytherin. 

“Draco,” he calls, and Draco turns, steps away from her. She tries to shrink into he all, hoping Balise is somehow blind enough not to notice.

“Blaise, mate,” Draco says, and steps forward, slaps him on the back, that strange male greeting ritual. Hermione’s never understood it. 

“Having a smoke, huh?” he says, eyes flicking between them. Hermione feels flayed by his eyes. 

“Yeah,” is all Draco says. 

“With Hermione Granger?” he says, voice a little raised. Hermione winces

“Oh, no, I just —” he cuts himself off and looks at her. “I was just smoking.”

Blaise laugh. “No, you weren't. Draco just smoking doesn't look like that, like you like her.” 

Draco stares him down. “I don’t like her, Blaise, are you thick?”

“Ohoho, I see, I see now. You're the girl.”

“The girl?” Hermione says, looking at a blushing Draco.

“Yeah, the girl Draco keeps sneaking out with, spending all his free periods with. He ditched advanced charms for you, and Flitwick was on him next lesson, and the git couldn't make up an excuse in time. You're still scrubbing the floors after class, right?”

“Blaise —” Draco says, and reaches out, putting the hand holding the cig on his arm.

Blaise pushes him off, “Don't get ash on my robs, mate.”

“You don’t understand, Blaise,” Draco says. 

“SO it’s true. Oh my god. Draco Malfoy fucking Hermione Granger,” she opens her voice in protest, but her voice dies in her throat. It’s true. What can she say? Blaise turns to her finger pointed out straight, accusing “speaking of, didn't know you smoked, HG.”

“Shut the fuck up, Blaise,” Draco hisses. 

“For what?” he dares, eyebrow raised in the same way Draco raises his. 

“We can go to Italy this summer,'' Draco says, _bargains_ , she realises. 

“Oh?” 

Draco groans, “And break into my father's liquor cabinet.”

“And?” Blaise prompts, again. 

Draco sighs irritability, “Fuck, steal my mother’s pearls for all I care.”

Blaise grins. “You're gonna regret that, mate. We’re gonna hold the best fcking rager this side of Naples. 

—

  
  


She's in Advanced Potions, setting two tables away from Blaise, who keeps trying to make eye contact. Hermione is ignoring him, of course, because he has no idea what he wants. 

She goes to the supply closet quickly, to grab another head of witch cabbage, where he materializes behind her, of course. 

“Granger,” he says, and he’s standing far too close for her liking.

“Zabini,” she says back, and tries to get around him. He mostly lets her, but leans down, whispers in her ear, “You know, Granger, I didn't pin you for a smoker.”

She freezes. “I'm not a smoker.”

“No?” 

She shakes her head. “No. I just — just —” he cuts her off.

“Just social?” everyone’s just social, Granger. Don't be so boring.”

“I don't know why you care.”

“I have an interest in my best friend.”

“Best friend?” she says. She didn’t think they were best friends. 

He laughs softly. “Of course, you know all about Draco, huh?”

“Zabini, keep your trap shut.”

“Of course. Draco’s promised me a broom, too.”

“He’s really bribing you into silence, and you call yourselves best friends?”

“You don’t understand anything.”

“I have to get back to my potion, Zabini.”

“Sounds like a smoker, Granger. Makes sense. Draco’s like a chimney, and he still blames me for one cig in fifth year.”

  
  


—

  
  


“Blaise talked to me in potions,” she says idly, stroking the sheets under her fingers. 

Draco jolts. “Blaise? I haven't said anything more to him, I swear —”

“I know,” she says, cutting him off, softly. “He told me that himself.”

“Oh.” 

“Says he gave you a cig in fifth year.” She looks up, carefully. He’s looking back at her, eyes fixed on her face intently. 

“Yeah,” he says, softly, and deflates a little, spine slumping. He sighs and sends a hand skating across the bed absentmindedly.

“Shouldn’t we just blame ourselves, at this point?” she sighs, “I asked for that first cigarette. That was me. I go down and buy them from Hogsmeade. It's me. It's all me.”

He sighs, and burrows into her shoulder. “Yeah, but that would mean taking responsibility.”

“Oh,” she smiles, “a terrible thought.”

“Certainly,” he sighs, kissing her neck

“You know, I saw Ginny sharing one in the common room the other day. Ron nearly puked...”

Malfoy sighs, and draws back from her. “You’re really discussing your ex boyfriend throwing up right now?”

She nods seriously, “It was menthol, I think.”

He snorts, and inhales “Menthol? Fuck.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, and looks down at the cigarette burning slowly in her hand, lofted in the air not to burn either of them. “It made me think.”

He finishes his cigarette and leans over to steal hers. He ends up staying there, laid across the bed, passing the cigarette between them. “About what, Granger? It's not an unusual occurrence, you thinking. Happens quite often, really.”

  
She takes the cigarette back, and looks at him, and his hair, and his eyes, and she reaches out, absentmindedly, to ruffle through his hair. He smiles softly and leans into her touch. “About us.”

“Oh, us,” he just says, and laughs.

“Yeah. I mean, it’s — it’s surprising.”

“I’m aware.”

“It’s not a bad thing, you know.”

He smiles. “I know.” then he sighs, looks at his watch, “You have class soon. You should go.”

“Oh, I do,” she remarks, sitting up. 

“Ancient Runes,” he says. “Have fun.”

She gets off the bed and grabs her things, getting ready quickly, while he lies there, boxers tucked you around his waist, rising up his thighs.

She's ready to go, and she should, she’ll be late soon, but she doesn't want to, really. She hovers by the door. "We should stop. Cancer, you know.” She’s not sure she’s talking about the cigarettes. 

"Yeah," Draco sighs, but he doesn't put it out, "we probably should.”

  
  



End file.
